Fetch me the matches
by Swizle
Summary: A little study of the relationship between my favourite Downton Abbey couple. Starting from their attempted elopement. Rated M for later chapters. Oh yes. There will be lemons. Juicy, Irish lemons.
1. Chapter 1

** I've been a fan of Sybil and Branson since the first season but, being Australian, I've been forced to follow along in season two with snatches of YouTube footage. Thus, I'm sorry if any of my story is non-cannon. I'm not sure how much of Branson's past has been revealed beyond what I've seen, and I've briefly embellished tog give context. Please let me know if there are any glaring problems and I'll fix them. **

**Obviously it goes without saying that I don't own these characters. I'm just a fan writing fiction on a website called fanfiction. **

**This chapter takes place in season two, episode seven, between the kiss scene and the hotel scene.**

The air was still. Clinging to the remaining heat of the day, it lifted the scent of spilt oil and recently manicured lawn to Branson's nostrils as he paced. By now he had worked out a clear line in the gravel outside the garage. The car was already parked down the lane, his small bundle of belongings stowed in the backseat. He had turned the lights in his garage out, not risking the chance of being seen from the house, and now stood waiting in the dark. Waiting for Sybil. His Sybil? He bit his lip against the wide smile that spread at the thought of her. The look in her eyes when had visited the night before. He stopped pacing and looked through the window to where they had stood.

She looked up at him.

'…and it's time to move forward.'

He swallowed and asked the question he had been repeating since bearing his heart so many months earlier. 'Do you mean you've made your decision?'

'Yes. My answer is…'

She paused and he steeled himself. So, this was it. The moment it ended. The moment she realized that he was no more than a flattering boy who could never offer enough. He had always known that he was far below her but, stubbornly, he had allowed himself to fancy she could look past that. Past wealth and status and obligation. Past her family's expectations. To him. He looked into her eyes, waiting.

'…That I'm ready to travel. And you have my ticket.' Her face broke into a smile, her eyes never leaving his. He struggled to breathe. Was he dreaming? Was she…was she saying yes? 'To get away from this house, away from this life…'

He had barely heard her last sentence. His ears were ringing with her smiling affirmation. _You__have__my__ticket_. He cut her off, hoping she would forgive his rudeness. He had to check.

'Me?'

She hardened her face into teasing seriousness. 'No. Uncle Tom Cosby.' She laughed and he joined her in relief.

'I'm sorry. But I've waited so long for these words. I can't believe I'm hearing them. You won't mind burning your bridges?'

'Mind? Fetch me the matches!'

A twig snapped, the sound pulling him from his memory. He swung around and starred into the night. But there was only the scurrying sound of a small animal cavorting in the night. He could see the lights of the Abbey burning in the distance. They would be sitting in the drawing room now, preparing for dinner, murmuring sympathetic remarks about Sybil's health. While she stole away into the night. He smiled. Starring at the lights he suddenly became concerned that they were too bright. Would the family or servants be able to see her as she left the house? They were relying on the distraction of dinner and the cover of darkness to cover them, but Mary was already on the alert, and who knew many of the servants were suspicious? And with the end of the war there were more eyes in the house now. Maybe she couldn't get away. Or maybe she got caught on the way out and was now in the library being interrogated.

_Or__maybe__she__wasn__'__t__coming_.

The voice of Doubt piped up, his constant companion; no matter how confident he appeared on the outside.

He resumed pacing, worrying. He had waited five years. Nearly a quarter of his life. He'd lost count of the number of times he had packed his bags, ready to resign and leave for home. But then the memory of her smile would creep up; the look in her eyes as she talked with him, debated, questioned and challenged him in ways he never expected. In her eyes he always found that spark of hope: that one day she would see the truth. That he loved her. And, perhaps, that she loved him. He had told her she loved him long before he truly believed it himself. In fact, he still found it hard to believe that such a woman could love him. Not because she was an aristocrat. Not because she was English. But because she was Sybil; all goodness, kindness, earnestness and curiosity, open to the world and its possibilities. They both saw the problems in the world, but where he had always seen anger and pain she saw opportunity for change, the power within herself and others to change the world for the better. She was hope.

His life leading to Downton was one of hardship. The poverty and oppression in his home town had embittered him. The violence and hunger had hardened him. He had watched his mother struggle to raise the family, and his father descend into drunkenness, and resolved to fight back. Sybil, he had first believed, had been born with everything and every opportunity. Of course, he now saw that she was as trapped as he, just in a more gilded cage. He had watched her grow stronger over those five years. As her skills and independence developed, so did her spirit and, in turn, his love for her. He watched her stretching her aching limbs after a long day at the hospital and her face, rather than grimacing in pain, broke into a smile. She adored her new life, and he hoped that he had been a part in helping her realize her potential.

He had always been a passionate man, a man of action. Waiting had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Being so close to her yet unable to reach out and hold her. He always had to keep his hands busy – polishing the bonnet of his livelihood for the umpteenth time – to keep him from grasping her hand. He was terrified of her rejection. Even on that night…

'Fetch me the matches!'

He exhaled roughly and dove his head towards hers, desperate to close the space between them. At the last moment he remembered himself and glanced pleadingly into her eyes.

'Yes, you can kiss me,' she whispered quickly. Her gaze moved from his from his parted lips back to his eyes. 'But that is all until everything is settled.'

He could have laughed. Of course, in his garage every night, alone in the dark, he had feverishly imagined the two of them in every way his limited experience and knowledge could conjure. But, now, the dream was settling into reality. She was here, declaring herself his and so close. So close. All he need was to prove to himself that he wasn't dreaming.

'For now, God knows' – he reached out, finally, and brushed his bare fingers against her skin. He gently cupped the join of her neck and chin, bringing her face closer – 'it's enough that I can kiss you.'

She breathed a laugh in response and they bridged the gap. He pressed his mouth to hers and groaned when he felt her respond. Her full lips were even softer than in his imagination and they parted gently around his, her hot breath entering his mouth. While his right hand held her face, his left hand traced up her hip and around to settle on her lower back. When he felt her arms tugging down on his shoulders he pulled her in, pressing their bodies together finally. She felt tiny in his arms, her body bowing against his. She gasped and clenched tighter, running her hand up the back of his neck and into his hair. He groaned again and ran his tongue along the part of her mouth, tasting her bottom lip. This seemed to wake her up. She pulled back and rested her forehead on his chest, struggling to control her breath.

He grunted in frustration and exhaled sharply, before resting his chin on her head. 'I'm sorry. I got carried away. Forgive me.'

She shook her head against his chest and sighed. 'There's nothing to forgive. I enjoyed it.' She laughed nervously. 'I enjoyed it too much, in fact. I was in danger of ignoring my own warning.'

He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss on top of her head, breathing in her scent and the softness of her hair.

'Tomorrow,' she whispered.

An owl call pulled him, again, back to reality. He glanced at his watch. She was late. Something was wrong. Oh, God. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying desperately to alleviate the clenching pit that was his stomach. He wasn't sure that he believed in God, despite the permeating Irish-Catholic guilt that bubbled up whenever he thought about it, but his mind called out to Him now. Please, deliver her to me safely.

As the minutes passed he began to reason the resolve to go to the Abbey and find her, to rescue her if necessary from her restricting family.

Then, he spotted a glimpse of white at the corner, and he saw her. Her face and suitcase stood out against the black as she walked cautiously down the road, almost blind in the darkness. He grinned, his heart bursting, and walked quickly towards her. She started at the sound of his feet racing over the gravel, but, as he neared, she recognized him and matched his grin. He reached her and took her suitcase, placing it on the ground so he could hold both her hands in his. She stepped closer to him, and he couldn't contain his smile.

'You came,' he breathed.

'Of course I came.' She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, running her bare fingers down his face. Her eyes bore into his, shining with excitement. 'I love you, Tom.'

**Thanks for reading – I hope you liked it! I'll be updating as soon as inspiration, uni work and reviews reach the crucible necessary to motivate me. Remember – every time you review an author smiles! To all other uni students – good luck with exams and have a lovely summer holiday!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know, I know, I know. I'm sorry. Far too long between updates. Now, now, there's no point lecturing me, I know I've been bad. I sincerely apologise and hope we can move on. **

**Another chapter detailing small moments between Sybil and Branson. Both of whom I do not own. Obviously. **

'Of course I came. I love you, Tom.'

He smiled broadly and ran his fingers over her full lips. 'Do you know, I think that's the first time you've addressed me by my first name?'

She looked up at him. 'No. Is it really?' She paused, biting her lip in thought. 'My goodness, I think you're right.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'However, I've thought of you as Tom for a while, now.' She reached up to kiss his forehead softly. 'Tom.' She pressed her lips to his temple. 'Tom.' His cheek. 'Tom.' His jaw. 'Tom.' He shuddered and closed his eyes, lips slightly parted, waiting. She leaned in and hovered her lips a breath away from his. 'Tom,' she breathed. Finally she breached the gap and he groaned, wrapping his hand around her waist, bringing her close. She marvelled again at how much emotion he could pour into every kiss; it was as though she had broken through an invisible barrier to his mind and now all those years of waiting and wanting were flooding over and into her. She could feel his relief, his excitement, and his happiness mingling and heightening her own emotions. Again, his warm tongue traced the crease of her lips, but this time she opened her mouth. He gasped in excitement and ran his hand into her hair, keeping her close. His tongue tentatively entered her mouth, allowing her to get used to the sensation. She cautiously offered her own, pressing, tangling and experimenting until her breath gave out. She parted him with a groan and leant against his chest. She heard him chuckle softly and clear his throat while he ran his fingers up and down her spine.

'Are you ready?' he whispered.

She nodded against his chest. 'Yes.'

He pulled away, raising her hand to his lips. 'Your chariot awaits, milady,' he said with a grin.

She batted him away, giggling. 'Now, none of that nonsense.'

He chuckled again, picked up her suitcase and began to lead her to the motor. She couldn't help herself. She turned back to look at Downton. Her eyes passed over the lights illuminating the rooms and halls in which she had grown, played and worked. Over the lawns she had run on, the trees she had climbed and sat under to read. The flower beds she had crouched in, hiding from her governess. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of grass and nectar and warm soil. She had grown up here. She had been happy here. Downton would always remain, in some small part, her home, she knew that. But she also knew that the man waiting patiently behind her was worth the small loss she felt now. She turned back to him and smiled.

'I'm ready.'

He led her to the motor, opened the back door and held out his hand as she always had. Her hand reached out instinctively but paused midway to meeting his. It hovered. With a grin she flounced past him and climbed into the front, patting the driver's seat in invitation. He shook his head and clambered in alongside her.

'Always a surprise. You'll be cold,' he warned.

She smiled and leant into him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. 'No, I won't.'

She awoke in the dark, her breath escaping as fog. She looked down and realised that she was covered in his jacked. She was alone in the back of the car, the windows sweating from her breath, their luggage still neatly stacked behind her. She tried to look outside but the glass was too foggy. She pulled down the front window that separated her from the driver's section. The seat was still warm; he hadn't been gone long. Suddenly there was a tap on the door beside her. She jumped, and then sighed with relief when Tom slid inside.

'Where were you?'

'I'm sorry, love, I thought you'd still be asleep. Don't be afraid.'

'I wasn't afraid. I am confused. How did I arrive here?'

'You fell asleep, but I could tell you were freezing. I covered you with my jacket but you were still shivering. So I pulled over, moved you back and drove here.'

'Where is here, exactly?'

'The Swan Inn.'

'An Inn? We are staying the night? Tom, what about the risk? We can't be far from Gretna Green now?'

'We're still some hours away, and we cannot achieve anything material for some days yet. We've a decent head start, we'll keep our heads down, but for the time being let's get you inside and warm.' He reached for the door, but stopped and turned back. 'I should warn you.' He glanced at her warily. 'I've booked us a room. As a married couple – they wouldn't have let us stay otherwise. You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor –'

'Tom,' she interrupted, placing her hand over his mouth. 'Shhh...I trust you, that's not necessary.'

'Well, we'll see,' he replied. He stepped out of the car and offered her his hand. She accepted it for old times' sake, but gave him a peck on the cheek as she exited. He kept her hand and gave her a grin. 'Come along then Sybil, before the neighbours have us arrested for public indecency.'

'I think for the benefit of the housekeeper you should refer to me as Mrs Branson.'

He squeezed her hand tighter. 'I like the sound of that.'

She sat on the end of the bed pulling off her shows as he placed a tray on the small table. Mrs Weatherby, the housekeeper, had provided them with a warm room, a bottle of wine and some bread, meat and cheese. It was a simple meal, Tom reflected, nothing like the grand banquets she was accustomed to.

'I'm sorry I can't provide something a bit grander for you,' he said quietly. 'Still, I guess you'll have to face the reality of joining me sooner or later.'

She came to him quickly and held his hand, placing her other ungloved hand on his cheek, running her finger along the texture of his five o'clock shadow.

'Tom,' she whispered. His blue eyes looked around the room sadly before piercing hers. 'Tom,' she repeated. 'I love you. Do you think I would have followed you here if money, if houses, if things' – she threw her hand up gesturing at the room before settling back on his face – 'mattered to me? It doesn't matter at all. You, Tom. You matter to me.'

He stared into her eyes, searching for any sign of disquiet. Sighing he pulled her into his embrace kissing the top of her head, her scent intoxicating him. 'I'm sorry. I don't want to put a downer on the evening. It's just...I've waited so long; to hold you like this, to hear you talk like this. I feel like you're going to disappear.'

'It's my fault,' she whispered, sure that he could hear her. 'I made you wait for so long. I was confused, I was blind. I know now that I loved you for much longer than I realised, certainly long before I would admit it. I was hesitant because I was afraid to leave my family, to leave my home, especially after the changes of the war and poor Matthew and Mary still at odds as they are. But that is what finally made me sure; I had a chance at happiness – true happiness. How many people can say that? And there I was, wasting time because I was afraid of a row with my family. But I was never unsure of you, Tom. I am here. I choose you freely and happily.'

'No regrets, then?'

'I won't deny that I am sad to have deceived my family. They do not deserve it, but I cannot see another alternative. I cannot – will not – live without you. I have made you wait long enough.'

'You know, Mrs Hughs has a saying that is you are homesick it shows that you come from a happy home. And that you should be grateful.'

'A wise woman.'

'Indeed. Sybil, I am certain they will come around. They love you; they will not cast you off forever.'

'I hope you're right.' She pulled back to look at him. 'Do you still doubt me?'

'I still can't really believe that you chose me, but I am happy.' He kissed her. 'So happy.'

She kissed him back, briefly, trying not to get carried away. 'Shall we have some dinner?'

She sat at the table opposite him and poured two glasses of wine. He unbuttoned his vest and began to loosen his tie. 'Sounds lovely.'

**So there we are, another filler before any good stuff. I'm planning another chapter in the hotel room (before they are discovered) then we shall move on to the wedding! As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Hope you all had a lovely Christmas break, write soon. Love S. **


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been forever since I last updated. Yes, yes, I know I'm a horrible person.**

**No, I am sorry. I could offer excuses, but I think it's more important to get to Sybil and Branson!**

**Please review if you enjoy!**

He tore off a piece of bread and settled back into his chair, watching her drink. After every sip of the red wine she would lick her lips, gradually staining the centre of the bow a berry shade. Her teeth were so white. Her hand was hovering indecisively over the platter. She glanced up and, catching him staring, blushed.

'I don't think I've never eaten with my hands before.'

He grinned. 'Really? Didn't you have picnics as a child?'

'Of course! Well, they were called picnics. They were really garden parties and everything was served properly, with special cutlery.'

'I remember you rather enjoying the last garden party.'

'Goodness, that seems an age ago.'

'But somehow yesterday, as well.'

'I know what you mean. I was so happy.'

'So was I. Do you ever hear from Gwen?'

'I write to her every month, she is doing so well.' She paused. 'That's not the only reason I remember that day happily, of course.' She linked her hand with his across the table and looked at him knowingly.

'I can't believe you remember that. I held that memory in such reverence for so long I'd half begun to think I'd imagined it.'

'You didn't. I was so embarrassed afterwards, and confused.'

'Embarrassed?'

'Yes, well I was very young, as you remember. I had barely begun circulating with men, and there I was holding the hand of one in broad daylight.'

'You were embarrassed because I was a man, not because I was the chauffeur?'

She blushed again. 'You must have thought I was very foolish.'

'I didn't think that.'

'I thought about that day a lot, while I was away.'

'At training?'

'Yes.'

'What did you think about, in particular?'

She smiled, and leant back, taking another sip of wine. 'I always wondered what you were going to say if you had finished your sentence.'

He cocked his head, confused by this trail of thought. 'My sentence?'

'Yes,' she sliced herself off a sliver of cheese and nibbled on it thoughtfully. 'You leant into me and said "I don't suppose…" but Mrs Hughes cut you off before you finished. I always wondered what you were going to ask me.'

'Sorry to disappoint you, I'm afraid I can't remember.'

'It is one of those things that only appear significant in hindsight. After what happened between us as I left for training' – he flinched slightly, but she pushed on – 'I found myself wondering how far back it had gone; that is, when you had stopped seeing me as a silly girl and started seeing me as a woman.'

He grinned. 'I never saw you as a silly girl. Young, certainly. Stubbornly optimistic perhaps, but never silly.' He paused and had a deep gulp of wine, to steady himself for his next sentence. 'I know the moment I realised, though.'

'The moment you realised?' she asked.

'The moment I realised I loved you.'

She blushed again, and looked down abashed. 'Goodness.' She looked back up and smiled, sheepishly. 'And? When was it?'

'It's not a nice memory, I'm afraid.'

'Oh?'

'It was the moment you fell at the count.'

'Really?'

'Yes,' he took another sip of wine, his face pained. 'I started panicking the minute I met you in the crowd, I could feel the anger of them all, you could see in their faces they were there for trouble. And then when Mr Matthew turned up, everyone started shoving – I got pulled away, but kept my eyes on you. Everyone was pushing. And then I saw you fall back. The sound –' His voice cracked, and she squeezed his hand to encourage him to continue. 'I can still hear it. I've never been so afraid. And that was when I knew. I wasn't worried that the daughter of my employer had been injured. I just kept thinking "not her, please god, not her." I didn't sleep a wink that night. I had your face in my mind the entire time; your face pale and bloodied in the back seat… and your face looking at Matthew as you walked back to the car after you'd been patched up.'

'What do you mean?'

He glanced at her. 'You looked at him like he was your knight in shining armour. I was lividly jealous, though I knew I had no right.'

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles tenderly. 'I knew that it was you. I knew that you had carried me out.'

His eyes widened with surprise. 'Really? I always assumed you had thought it was Matthew.'

She smiled and rubbed her fingers along his knuckles, scattering them with small pecking kisses. 'I felt so safe in your arms, even then.' She crinkled her brow. 'You were really in love with me since then? For all this time?'

He smiled. 'That was when I realised I had feelings for you. It's only gotten deeper.' His smile faded as he noticed her frown. 'What's wrong?'

'You must think me very cruel. For making you wait so many years.'

'All good things come to those who wait,' he quipped cheekily. He leaned over the table and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. 'And it was worth it.'

She smiled against his lips and sighed. 'I do love you, Tom.

After they finished their meal, Sybil sat down on the end of the bed and began to pull the pins from her hair. Tom pulled off his loosened tie and undid his top button watching, bemused, as her blind fingers tangled amongst the hair.

'Would you like a hand?' he asked.

Smiling ruefully, she stood with her back to him. 'Thank you.'

He began running his fingers over her hair, carefully pulling out the pins, one by one, shaking out each tendril as it fell. Soon they were all removed but he continued threading through his fingers through her shining brunette curls, marvelling at the softness and the light lavender scent that rose from her neck. He drew her closer and began to run his lips along her shoulder and up her neck, breathing in the scent and leaving a trail of delicate kisses. She angled her head to the side and he deepened his kisses, letting his tongue taste the skin she bared. She moaned and turned in his arms to face him; she pressed herself against his body and leant up to kiss him hungrily. He wrapped one arm around her waist and brought the other hand up to cup her face. This time she offered her tongue first, cautiously opening her mouth against his. She held his face, enjoying the feel of the stubble on his cheeks. He broke away to run fevered kisses down her neck. She trailed her hands down his neck in turn, and into his shirt, holding onto his collar.

'Ah, I like this.'

He moaned into her neck. 'Mmm… I should hope so.'

She giggled and leant back a little to look into his eyes. 'No, although obviously I love it when you kiss me. I mean I like _this_,' she said gesturing to his bare neck. 'I love it when your collar is loose.'

He grinned a little. 'Really?'

'Yes,' she began to run her fingers along the collar, letting her nails scratch lightly on his skin. 'It was always very distracting to me when I came into the garage, if you had undone it.' She smiled at the look of shock on his face. 'It is hard to look away.'

'Are you saying that all I had to do to get a kiss off you all this time is walk around a bit more with my top button undone? Why, Madame, I'm scandalised.' He began to chuckle at her, but it quickly died as she leant in and pressed her lips to his throat. 'Mmm…'

She began to trail her fingers down his torso, undoing the buttons of his vest and shirt as she went, following with her mouth. When she reached the bottom of his shirt she raised her hands again, scratching her fingernails through the light hair on his chest while her lips concentrated on the hinge of his jaw. He was groaning deeply in the back of his throat, causing her to giggle when it vibrated against her lips. She pressed her tongue into the groove under his ear and he felt his knees weaken. He pulled her with him onto the bed, turning her in mid-air so that he was hovering over her.

'When did you realise?'

'That I loved you?'

He buried his face in her neck, slipping his tongue along her throat. 'Yes.'

She pulled back, threading her fingers into his hair, so she could look into his eyes. 'It's hard to say. It snuck up on me, so. I'd had a girlish crush on you for many years, since before the garden party. You were the first man, the first person really, to actually talk to me; to actually see me. It's so hard for me to tell when it turned to something real. I was blind for so long. And stubborn.' She ran her hand down his cheek, cupping his face. 'You have to understand – I wasn't raised to recognise this.' She waived a hand between them. 'To recognise love. It wasn't important. You did not choose a husband because you loved them, you chose a husband because he was a "good match". I didn't know what to make of it. I couldn't tell why I was constantly coming down to the garage with the hope that you would pick a fight with me, why as soon as you left me at training I longed to call your name. Why I missed you more than anyone else from Downton while I was away. I didn't know. Perhaps I didn't want to know. It's scary. I'm not as brave as you.'

'You're worth it,' he said again.

'I'm sorry I made you wait so long.'

'I love you.'

'I love you.' She pulled on his collar, bringing his face down. 'Kiss me.'

He brushed his lips against hers. 'Gladly.' Their kiss quickly deepened, her hands running across his chest and around to his back to pull him more fully on top of her. She could feel his hardness pressed against her and, instinctively, she wrapped her leg around him to bring him even closer. He groaned and, before he could stop himself, or even think, he began to grind himself against her. His lips slipped to her neck again, and lower, trailing down over her shirt. Frustrated she sat up slightly and began to unbutton her blouse never taking her eyes from his. He sat back to watch her, panting slightly, with a look of wonder in his eyes. 'Are you sure?'

'I want you to touch me, Tom,' she answered steadily, unthreading the last button and revealing herself to him for the first time.

His mind went blank. Joy, only joy. Her skin was creamy and perfect, emphasising the rosy pink peaks of her full breasts which were rising and falling in time with her breath. 'Oh, god.'

She smiled and lay back, pulling him gently back on top. He raised his eyes back to hers, questioning. When she nodded he allowed his hand to trail slowly up her side to cup her left breast. She sighed and let her head fall back; she felt relief, as though a pain she hadn't noticed had suddenly eased. He pinched the nipple slightly, quickly glancing up to her face, and smiling at her panting reaction. She squirmed under his touch, pressing her chest up into his hands. He lowered his head and tentatively lapped at her right breast with his tongue, flicking it over her taut nipple. She gasped and threw her hand into his hair, holding him there. He pulled her nipple into his mouth and moaned at the taste, causing her to squirm even more.

His hand slowly trailed further south, hooking itself around her calf bunching the material of her skirt up to her waist. She began writhing against him again, instinctively trying to ease the tension building within her. He kept his left hand on her breast while his right ran part way up her inner thigh, lifting his head to check her reaction. She sat up, a slightly alarmed look in her eyes. 'Oh, Tom,' she panted.

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry…' he said, backing up.

'No! That's not it,' she cried, scrambling to pull him back close. 'I'm sorry; this is all new to me.' She lowered back onto the bed.

'I don't want to do anything you don't want to. I can stop.'

'Please, don't stop.'

He smiled and slid his hand further along her silken thigh to cup her warmth, pressing his index finger along the crease. She shuddered and threw her head back, breathing his name. He pulled the material down and dipped his long finger into her wetness, running the slickness up to her bud. He ran his other hand under her back and lifted her up so she was almost sitting in his lap. He continued to run his wet fingers over her, swallowing her gasps with deep kisses.

'Oh, Tom. Oh, Tom,' she chanted, over and over.

He turned his hand down to push a finger inside her, curling it towards him while his palm ground gently against her mound. She began to cry out his name, writhing against him in earnest, struggling towards something she couldn't name.

'Yes, Sybil, yes, my darling.'

'Oh, _Tom_!'

He pressed a second finger inside and she came apart, crying out and clamping herself onto his fingers. He buried his face into her neck as she rode out the high, shaking against him. As she calmed, he kissed along her collarbones, up her neck, to her lips, parting them gently. She moaned quietly into his mouth before pulling away.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

'You're welcome,' he whispered back, pushing the hair out of her eyes. 'God, you're beautiful.'

She kissed him again for some moments, but was forced to pull away and stifle a yawn.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed. 'It's been a long day.'

He tried to sit up, but she mewed sulkily and pulled him back by his open collar. 'No.'

He chuckled. 'Now, we need to get up early and we've got another big day tomorrow. I would love to stay here' - he glanced down at her bare chest again with open admiration, causing her to blush – 'Good god, I would like to stay.' He sat up and began to button up his shirt. 'But I'm afraid I can't trust myself.' He buttoned up his collar and replaced his tie with a wink in her direction. 'Best not tempt you.'

She threw his vest at him, with a grin. 'That's very considerate of you.' She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the way his eyes boggled at the sight. 'And I had best not tempt you,' she teased, buttoning up her blouse.

'Shame,' he smiled, settling into the neighbouring arm chair, pulling a blanket over his lap.

She loosely plaited her hair, and pulled back the blanket. She leant down to give him one last kiss before slipping into the bed, lying on her side to look at him.

'Sweet dreams, Tom. I love you.'

'Good night, my love. I still can't believe you're here.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'I'm afraid to sleep. I think that as soon as I shut my eyes you'll disappear and I'll awaken in my cottage, to find it's all a dream.'

'No, it's too late for that,' she said with a grin. 'I'm afraid you'll be waking up to me for the rest of your life Mr Branson.'

'Mmm…I like the sound of that.'

Tom kept his eyes on her as she slowly drifted to sleep, a smile on her full lips. He had never seen such a peaceful sight in his life. The memories of the past few hours ran so vividly through his mind he was sure he would never be able to sleep, but finally, with the image of taking Sybil picnicking in the Irish countryside, his eyes closed to a peaceful slumber.

He awoke to the sound of hurried footsteps thumping up the stairs.

'Who is it?' Sybil whispered from the bed, with a look of panic.

The door threw open.

**So there we are. I tried to get it back on cannon by the end. **

**There will most likely be a little more naughtiness before the proper lemon, because I do think that Sybil would have stayed a virgin until she was married; if only because Tom would have wanted to give her the option to leave until they were properly married. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this latest chapter, I'll try to update soon. **

**Please review, pretty please with a little cherry on top.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A bit of Branson angst before the reunion.**

Tom pulled the car into the garage as the first rays of light peeled over the horizon. As the engine whirred down to silence he leant his forehead on his knuckled fists, which had gripped the steering wheel too tightly the entire journey home. _Home_, he scoffed. While he had been welcomed to Downton and treated well, it had never felt like home and now, in the shadowy morning, thinking of where he had intended to be in this light, it felt empty. He felt empty. He should have known it would never have worked. It was too rash, too careless. Too perfect. Even now he could feel her against him; her tongue running down the hollow of his throat, her fingers clutching his shoulders to bring him ever closer, her warm breath on his ear as she cried out his name.

His cheek burned where she had kissed him goodbye.

He threw himself back into the seat, rubbing his fists into his eyes as though he could stem the falling tears with sheer force. He bit his bottom lip to hold in the cry that threatened to choke out. Why hadn't she looked back?

After his retort to Lady Mary – condescending cow – he had run to window to watch Sybil leave. She leant on Lady Edith's arm as they walked towards the car, their pale skin glowing ghost-like in the moonlight. He could see another figure in the car; a woman. Their mother? No, she was sitting in the front seat. A servant, then. Anna. And she would surely tell Bates. His only two real friends among the staff were now privy to his humiliation. But he was barely aware of this; his whole focus was concentrated on the shaking shoulders of his departing lover. Mary stepped into the light and replaced Edith's embrace as the middle sibling stepped around to the driver's door. God, he regretted those driving lessons now. Sybil leant into Mary's embrace, crying into her shoulder. Mary comforted her little sister, patting her dark hair and rubbing her back. Tom could see her whispering in her ear. Calming her. Or convincing her? Finally the women parted and Sybil turned to the car, opening the door. She lifted her foot inside and paused. The world was still. Tom pressed his hand against the cold glass, his breath held. Her shoulders shuddered again and she slid into the cab, her figure disappearing into the darkness.

Mary, however, turned and glanced up, her dark eyes seeking him out in the window. He knew she could see him and he held in his tears and pulled his hand back from the glass. He wouldn't fall apart in front of her, despite the churning pain in his stomach. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He merely kept his chin high, staring down at her with defiance. She bowed her head slightly and slid in beside Sybil.

As the headlights disappeared down the lane he fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead against the window, the cool glass a frigid relief to his feverish skin as his sadness overwhelmed him.

He barely made a noise – this wasn't a cry for help, nor a cry to heaven. The only one who could save him from this pain had just driven away; on a promise, into a prison. Her family would never let them see each other. It had been difficult enough before to find a spare moment of blissful privacy, now it would be impossible. He crouched, doubled up, and choked out his sobs into the darkness. Her warmth had left the room. He was cold. Alone.

He left the inn hours later, before the housekeeper had risen. He couldn't bear any questions. He drove through the darkness with a foreign numbness. Would she be there waiting for him in the garage with apologies and fevered kisses? Or would she be locked in the house, forbidden to speak to him again? Or would she be in her room of her own accord, convinced into compliancy, her foolish affair over and willing to be forgotten? Surely, then, he would be greeted by Carson and a freshly printed letter of dismissal.

But the grounds were dark and the garage was empty, save for the car crookedly parked by Edith.

He stayed in the car until he was sure he was in control of his breathing. Numbly, he retrieved his suitcase from the back seat and retraced his steps back to the chauffeur's cottage. The key was where he left it, in a sealed envelope wedged into the door. He sat on the bed for a few moments staring at nothing, simply feeling the inhale and exhale of his breath. When the sun had spread across the floor to his feet he rose and changed into his old uniform. He had to know.

The night-frost crunched under his boots as he crossed the lawn to the Abbey. Smoke rose from the chimneys, so he knew that Daisy at least was up. He glanced up at Sybil's window and wasn't surprised to see the curtains were still drawn tightly. Lips pressed into a thin line he stepped through the servants' entrance, sat down at the table and tried in vain to concentrate on the newspaper in front of him.

Minutes later a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of him. Mrs Hughes was looking down at him, with a caring and curious look on her face. He realised she was waiting to the answer of a question. He hadn't even heard her come in.

'I'm sorry Mrs Hughes, what did you say?'

'I was only asking why you were up so early. We don't normally expect you in the house until the end of breakfast.'

'I hope I'm not intruding.'

'Not at all, I just hope I haven't forgotten an appointment.'

'Nothing planned that I know of, Mrs Hughes. I just couldn't sleep and thought I'd come up.'

'Yes, you do look a bit under the weather. Is everything okay, lad? You're not feeling feverish at all?'

'I'm not ill, Mrs Hughes. I'll be fine if I can just sit for a bit.' He paused, holding the hot cup in his palm. 'Do you know where Anna is? I need to talk to her.'

'Talk to her about what?'

'I…I found a glove in the cab of one of the motors yesterday. It must belong to one of the ladies; I was going to give it to Anna. She'd know where it should go.'

'Very well. Do you have it now?'

'No, it's in the garage.'

'Well bring it to me when you have the chance. Anna's not coming down today, she's not feeling well either. She looked like she'd been up all night when I saw her. Normally with Gwen gone to she'd have to fight through it but I'm not taking any chances with illness in this house, not after the past few months.' She looked closer at him and he flinched away from her gaze, fearing she'd see his redlined eyes and demand to know more. 'You know, you do look ill. Perhaps it would be best for you to take your breakfast in the cottage this morning. Rest up. I don't think they'll need the motor today.'

'Fine. Fine, I'll go now then.' He quickly swallowed the tea, scalding his tongue, and pulled on his jacket. 'I'll be in the garage. All day. If any one needs me.'

She wrinkled her forehead in confusion at his last comment, but nodded nonetheless. 'On you go.'

He swore under his breath as he stepped back into the cold morning air. No Anna meant no message. No message meant no hope. Jesus, he was tired. He shoved his freezing hands deep into his pockets and shuffled towards the cottage, deliberately scuffing his shining boots into the gravel drive. Out of habit he turned his head to glance at her window, expecting the cold white curtain front.

But there she was. Dark hair sweeping over her shoulders, pale skin, red lips and white nightdress. A beautiful ghost haunting him, always from above. Her hand came up to rest her palm against the glass just as he had done the night before. Their eyes locked, his chest burned. So close, but she may as well have been in Australia. His eyes were full and one escaped, spilling down onto his. She saw him wipe it away and it let loose her own tears. He could see her shoulders begin to shake again and her other arm wrapped around her middle as though to hold the sadness in.

He fought the urge to run back inside and up the stairs to hold her. That wouldn't help either of them. Even standing here, in full view of the curtained windows of her family he had to be careful. Who knew who was watching? But he needed to let her know that he was waiting for her. That he loved her.

He took a deep breath and brought his hands to his collar and casually loosened his tie, opening his collar with a quick smile. It broadened to a grin when he saw her laugh in recognition. He retied it and soberly placed his hand over his heart, with a nod. She nodded in return, and mimicked his pose.

The curtain in the window next to hers began to move so he nodded once more and turned away to walk quickly to the cottage. His job still wasn't safe. Their immediate future would be one of distance and insecurity. But he had hope. As long as she was there, as long as he had her whispered promises ringing in his ears and the memory of her lips on his skin, he had hope. He would wait, forever. She was worth it.

**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! I will try and update soon. Please review if you liked the story, it encourages me to get off my lazy ass and write. Lots of love, S. xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is set late in the night that the Spanish flu hit Downton, with Sybil's mother still very sick. I didn't mean for that to be a downer, but I thought it was strange that Sybil and Branson didn't see each other during this time. Anyway, in my typical style it takes me forever to scrap together a chapter and then out of nowhere comes a really long one – so I've split it in two, to make it a little less painful to read. I hope you like it!**

Tom paced the small room, his bare feet dragging into the carpet. He had left the window open despite the protests of the hotel staff. The room was stuffy otherwise and the slightest feeling of oppression grated on him. They had announced themselves to the family. She had held his hand and defended him. She was to be his wife.

The family was as welcoming as he had expected.

He hadn't predicted the Earl's visit, however.

He was still shaking. He hated that he had let the old man get to him like that. He pulled his hands from his pockets and leant against the window frame. He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold, English air and watched the exhale plume into a long line of fog. He could use a cigarette, but he knew Sybil despised them.

_Oh God, Sybil._

His grip on the window tightened. It just showed how little their announcement had changed the rules of the house. He had tried tonight, again, to see her and was turned away. The whole house in an uproar, people dropping like flies from the flu, upstairs and downstairs. He knew that Sybil would be there where the sickness was worst, her training and giving nature disallowing her to move away to safety. And the bastards wouldn't let him see her. Didn't he have the right to at least know that she was safe?

And the hypocrisy of the Earl, coming to chastise Tom for ruining Sybil's life, while his own wife was ill, possibly dying. Tom hit his palm against the wood, enjoying the dull pain that shot through it. _Dying. _People were dying and he was stuck here in a tiny, stuffy room he could barely afford, unable to see the woman he loved. The woman who was to be his wife. Who _was_ his wife as far as he was concerned, ceremony be damned. They were so close, _so_ close to finally being together and now they were separated again. What if she… if she… He couldn't even finish the thought. She would be well. She must be well. He would feel it, he was sure; somehow his body would know if they were parted permanently. And yet he could not placate the gnawing in his gut.

He was afraid; afraid like a boy. If he could only hold her, her small hand in his, he would be okay. It was the distance that cursed them.

He looked up at the sky, stars blinking between streaks of fog, and prayed silently. _God, if you're there. Let her be safe. Let us be together and I vow to never leave her. Be my witness – I will devote my life to her happiness and safety. Please, let me see her…_

'Tom?'

He gasped and looked down – there she was, standing in the street before the inn, bathed in moonlight like a goddess.

'Sybil,' he breathed. He turned and ran to the door and continued, barefoot, down the stairs and out to her.

'Sybil, my god, thank you,' he pulled her to him and kissed her, smothering her explanations. Her hands trailed up his neck into his hair, scratching her fingernails against his scalp. She pulled back a little and pressed her forehead against his, her breath hot against his lips.

'Tom, I'm so sorry.'

'No - no sorrys. No words. Just hold me.'

'Forever.'

She fell against him, her head pressed to his chest, the rise and fall of his breath calming her. He brought her hand up and gently kissed her knuckles. She shivered and he noticed the thin material of her dress. 'Where is your coat, love?'

'I forgot it. I was sent to bed and saw a chance to run here. I didn't think.'

'You must be bloody freezing!'

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. 'Only a little.'

He groaned, and smoothed his hand over her hair. 'You must go back. You can't stay out here. I'd invite you in, but…'

'But what? I've run away alone, in the night, to see the man I love. I think it's a little late for propriety.'

'I dare not bring you inside, it will only prove –'

'That you are seducing the youngest Crawley lady?'

'That I am not worthy of you.'

She frowned at him, and kissed him lightly on his bottom lip. 'That is for me to decide.'

She shivered again and his resolve faltered. He looked about at the dark lower floor of the inn. 'Let's go.'

They walked upstairs, hand in hand, and she giggled when she noticed his bare feet. He turned to her, placing a single finger against his smiling lips, and led her into his room. She lowered the window as he shut the door.

He leant back against the door and watched her. She was tired, he could tell. Her shoulders were curved downwards and she moved slowly. She was looking around the room, taking in her surroundings. She ran her hand across the edge of the desk, trailing along an open copy of _On Social Freedom. _'Stuart Mill, again?' she teased.

'I was seeking distraction. I confess, I didn't take in a word.' He crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'Forgive me. How is your mother?'

'She is…she's not –' Her voice broke and she turned around, folding into his embrace. He pulled her close and ran his hands up and down her back, letting her cry into his chest. 'Doctor Clarkson says that if she lasts the night she will live. They sent me to bed, there was nothing more to be done. Nothing I could do. They sent me to bed like a child and I stood there at the window and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, let alone be still, until I saw you.' She felt for his hand and brought it to her lips. 'Do you think I'm pathetic? All I wanted was independence and now I cannot bear to be apart from you.'

He sighed and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. His throat was tight. She felt his breath hitch and looked up at him with confusion, her small fingers wiping away the tear that ran down. 'Why are you crying?'

He smiled at her, but his voice was shaky as he answered. 'I don't think you're pathetic.' He pressed his forehead to hers so that he could look her straight in the eye. 'You are the strongest, bravest, _best_ woman I have ever known. I love you for your independence, I know you will never lose it and, for all I am worth, I shall never seek to restrain it. I know how you feel. I am so desperate when you are not near me; I can scarcely believe that you were ever here and yet I can remember every touch.' He ran his fingers along her cheek bone. 'I'm sorry about your mother. I wish I could keep this heart break from you. God, how I love you Sybil.' He shook his head against hers, his other hand running up to wrap around the back of her neck. She felt so tiny in his arms.

She scratched her fingers into his hair and held him still. She kissed him gently then gazed solemnly into his eyes. 'No words,' she whispered. 'Just hold me.'

He drew her to him and kissed her fiercely, stepping backwards toward the bed. He pulled back for a moment, she raised her eyebrows in permission, and he let them fall back onto the covers. He shifted up to rest his head on the pillowed headboard, pulling her onto him, never allowing his mouth to part from hers. She drew up her knees so that she was sitting in his lap. His hand grasped her ankles and ran up her legs under her skirt to clutch at her bare thigh. He would never stop marvelling at the smoothness of her skin. She threw her head back and he began to devour her long, pale neck. 'So smooth,' he breathed.

She grasped his hand and drew it further up her inner thigh and pressed it against her warmth. She ground herself against him, feeling his hardness, and smiled when he groaned in response. 'A week,' she whimpered. 'Nearly a whole week since that night, since we were together like this.' She ground down again and he moaned into the skin of her shoulder, biting down gently, his other hand entwined into her lavender scented curls. 'I missed you, Tom. I need to feel you again.'

He flipped them over so that he hovered above her, trailing a line of fevered kisses down her throat. She twisted her fingers into his hair and gasped as he continued the line further south, passing over her rising breasts and flat stomach. He knelt between her legs and hurriedly shoved her skirts up to her waist, revealing her fully. She bit her bottom lip and parted her legs, drawing them up so that her feet were flat on the bed. 'Touch me, Tom.'

'Gladly, milady.'

He traced his fingers lightly up her thigh to cup her warmth again, before slowly pulling down her underwear. He groaned when he saw how wet she was. She wanted him, maybe nearly as much as he wanted her. He was burning. This was even better than last time; kneeling in front of her, worshiping her, and able to see all of her. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he entered a finger into her wetness, torturously slowly. He curled it upwards and dragged it back before plunging back it; over and again. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head fell back against the pillows, her breath panting out from swollen lips.

He gently kissed the inside of her knee, and then placed his cheek against the soft skin of her inner thigh. He couldn't believe how tight she was. He couldn't wait any longer. With a quick glance up at her face he leant down and tasted her for the first time.

She gasped and ground her hips up to him as he traced his tongue through her. He found her bud and wrapped his lips around it, savouring her moans as though every pleasurable sound was vital sustenance – and it was; bringing her joy filled him with content and burning desire in equal measure. He would never stop. He pulled out his finger and she writhed, mewing. He wrapped his other arm around her left thigh, holding it tight against his cheek. His other hand ran up her body to clutch at her breast. She bucked wildly against him and he groaned throatily into her warmth. The vibration of his deep voice was enough to send her over. 'Tom, Tom… oh, God!'

He petted her chest and stomach gently until she came down, his mouth not still until she stopped shaking. She whimpered and released his hair. 'Tom, that was…'

He smiled and kissed his way up again, over her stomach, her breast, her throat, her chin to her soft mouth. He parted her lips with his tongue, tracing it languidly against hers. 'I hope you liked it,' he breathed.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. 'I think you know I did. Where on earth did you learn to do that?'

He chuckled and ducked his head down to kiss her neck. 'Ah, you pick stuff up along the way…'

**So there you go – chapter six should be up now too, so please keep reading! **

**I hope you liked this chapter; please leave a review if you did, or if you think it was rubbish too – I like constructive criticism. **

**Love S xx.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we go, Chapter Six. Enjoy!**

He chuckled and ducked his head down to kiss her neck. 'Ah, you pick stuff up along the way…'

He realised his mistake instantly when she stiffened beneath him. He stopped his attentions to her throat and watched her face. She was looking down, her eyes darting away from his. He held her chin and waited until she met his gaze. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes.'

'Something is troubling you.'

'Are you… I mean, you know I am a….' she took a deep breath and looked away again. 'Have you been with many other women?'

He groaned and lowered his head, resting his forehead on her chest, before rolling to lie beside her. 'Sybil…'

'I won't be mad, I promise.'

'You won't be mad?'

'You were a man before you came to Downton and… and I guess you have been here for many years, I couldn't blame you if you had a lover…'

'Whoa! Sybil, no, you've got the wrong idea.' He rolled onto one side and pulled her over so that they were facing one another. 'Listen to me. I love you, and only you. I have had no other lover since I saw you, since I arrived at Downton.' He paused.

'In Ireland, then?' She prompted.

'Yes, in Ireland.' He sighed. 'I have slept with two women before –' She gasped and he ran his fingers over her face. 'I'm sorry, I won't go on.'

'No, please. I want to know.'

'Okay. The first was when I was sixteen, a farm girl a year older than me. She thought she loved me, I thought… well, I thought that I wanted to have sex. I was young; a stupid boy who thought he was a man. It was over very quickly, and she soon tired of me. She was married, last I heard, and happy. The second was a woman in Dublin. Kerry. She was a maid in the house I was working at before I came here.'

'Did you love her?'

'No.'

'Did she love you?'

'I don't believe so. If she did, I was not the only man she loved.'

'If you did not love them, then why?'

'I'm a man. They were offering.'

'How romantic.'

'And I was lonely. It was exciting, and pleasurable, if only temporarily. I was young, and angry, and I felt so… so alone. That's partly why I came to England. I wanted something more, some adventure, something to distract me from the mad thoughts…' His hand cupped her face, smoothing away a stray tear. 'And then I met you; sweet, kind, lightness. I didn't think of you in that way, at least not at first, but I didn't feel alone. I had found someone who understood me; or at least someone who listened to me, seriously, in order to try to understand me. You didn't talk down to me, or talk mindlessly at me – you talked _to _me, as your equal. And I loved you for it.'

He kissed her lips gently. 'I regret it. I think that you think differently of me because of it…'

She kissed him quickly in return. 'No. I do, but not in a bad way. I think I always knew that you were … experienced. I had just never pictured it. I'm jealous.'

'You needn't be.'

'How can I not be?'

He sat up and knelt on the bed before her. 'Sybil, I promise you. I have never taken a lover – never even looked at another woman – after I met you. And I never will. I love you, Sybil, only you. Forever and always.'

She held his face in her palm and brought his mouth to hers. 'I believe you, Tom. I love you.' She smiled and placed her other hand on her chest. 'Forever and always.'

He kissed her earnestly, burying his mistakes into the past. She was his future. She was all that mattered.

She rolled onto him, and leant down to kiss his neck. She threaded her fingers into his collar and traced a long line with her tongue up his throat and along his jaw, smiling when he shuddered under her touch. She knelt to sit in his lap and ground down on him, finding him hard once again. Still kissing his jaw, she began to run her hand down his torso and over his firm stomach. His breath hitched as she ran her fingers lightly over the bulge that rested between them.

'Sybil,' he panted. 'You don't need to do this, I'm happy enough to wait…'

'May I not pleasure you, as you have pleasured me?' She started to rub more vigorously and he groaned.

She grinned and began to unthread the front of his trousers. He helped her, lifting himself up to allow her to pull down his trousers and pants. She gasped at the sight of him, reaching out her hand to touch him before pulling back at the last minute. He grew nervous.

'I don't please you?'

'What? No – no, of course you do.' She pressed her hand to his chest. 'I just didn't expect it to be so –'

'So what?'

'So…. Well, so big.'

He leant forward to press his forehead to hers, and gently kiss her lips. 'It won't hurt you.'

She smiled and reached for him again, wrapping her small fingers around him. He groaned and choked out her name, his hand placed on her shoulder. She began to massage up and down his length, twisting her fingers around the top, matching her movements to his breath. 'Am I doing this right?'

'God, Sybil… I…' his voice was breathless and strained. His hips began to thrust up into her hand. 'Yes…'

She stopped suddenly and his eyes widened desperately. 'Oh, please. Don't stop.'

She kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled back. 'Would it please you if I… as you did…'

'If you did what?' he panted.

She kissed him again and ran her tongue over his bottom lip. 'With my mouth...'

He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't form a sound.

She grinned and knelt forward, pressing an open mouthed kiss on the head of him. He let out his breath in a great staggering gasp, his fingers clenching the bed sheets. 'Sybil.'

She let him into her mouth, her wet tongue pressing down the underside. She licked him from base to tip before drawing him in again, sucking hard on the head. His head was thrown back, a stream of nonsense pouring from his mouth as he tried to hold on. 'Sybil, God – oh, God, yes there…' He could feel his end nearing and he tried to warn her. 'I'm going to – you need to stop, ahh…' He couldn't help himself; it was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting hard into her soft, warm mouth. She looked up at his face, catching his eyes and held them as she hummed around him. It was too much; he exploded, white light dancing behind his eyes and he called out her name. When he came back to earth she was lying beside him, nestling her face into his neck and placing warm kisses onto his fevered skin.

'Good God, love.'

'It was okay?'

He turned to her and pressed a small kiss to the tip of her nose. 'It was amazing. _You _were amazing. I've never come that hard before.'

She smiled at his coarseness, and held his hand to her face. 'I love you.'

'I love you.'

She sighed and began to move from his side. 'I'd better get back…'

'No!' He pulled her tight to him and wrapped a leg over her. 'No, don't. Stay with me, please. Just for a bit.'

'It is late, my love. If I don't get home soon it will be light and one of the servants might see me.'

He sighed and kissed her lightly on the forehead. 'You're right. You're right as ever. Let me walk you home, at least.'

They slowly redressed, neither wanting the moment to end. She stood at the dressing table, staring at the reflection of the room and the memory of everything that had happened between them. He stood behind her, kissed her shoulder and placed his coat over her.

'Are you ready?'

She nodded.

They walked to the estate in silence, his arm draped over her shoulder, her arm wrapped around his waist. They stopped in the shadow of the chauffeur's cottage. They both knew they couldn't go any further without the risk of someone seeing them from the house. She turned to him and offered him his coat.

'Thank you, love.' He kissed her, lingering until their breath quickened again. His bottom lip trembled against hers. 'I don't want you to go.' His voice broke and she held his face into the moonlight.

'Soon, Tom. Soon, we will be married.' She pulled his hand to her lips. 'Man and wife. And I will never leave your side again.'

He smiled. 'You promise?'

'I do. You'll be sick of me soon enough.'

'Ha, never.'

She smiled again and began to walk away, her white skin glowing in the darkness.

'I miss you already,' he called.

She turned back and placed her hand on her heart. 'Forever and always,' she mouthed before turning and walking into the night.

'Forever and always,' he whispered to himself. He leant back his head, his hands deep in his pockets and breathed, staring at the blue-black sky.

**So what did you think? I hope you liked it.**

**Season Three has started (thank god) so hopefully the inspiration will keep up and I'll keep writing! **

**Thanks again for reading; every time you leave a review an Irish chauffeur blows you a kiss haha**

**Love S xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Aaaaaaand we're back. This is just a quick in-between chapter before the good stuff. Please read and review. Hooray!**

Sybil rolled onto her back with a groan. Edith lay still, lightly snoring two feet away. Their tiny cabin was over-warm and stuffy, the small round window fogged with their breath. It rocked steadily on the waves and with each pitch Sybil's stomach grew more and more uneasy. She rose from the bed and stood in front of the window. Her eyes were just able to discern the crests of rising waves churning in the Irish Sea as their ferry tumbled toward Dublin. She pressed her feverish forehead to the windowpane, the cool glass calming her warm skin. But she still couldn't breathe.

She glanced at Edith and marveled that her sister was able to sleep so soundly in the suffocating confines of their cabin. _I mustn't begrudge her this small pleasure, though_, Sybil thought. She knew how brave her sister had been in agreeing to chaperone Tom and Sybil to Dublin and witness the wedding. _Although jail keeper may be more appropriate a term than chaperone. _Edith had certainly taken her task seriously and had subtly kept Sybil from being alone with Tom since their engagement was officially announced.

The cool glass had helped but Sybil was not satisfied. Their cabin was a swaying, airtight box keeping her from the sea she loved: she loved the smell, the sound of the waves, and the salt spray on her face. She needed air.

She pulled on her boots and wrapped the coarse woolen blanket from her bed around her shoulders. It was so large it nearly covered her nightgown. She crept to the door and, with a final glance to ensure that her sister was still soundly sleeping, stole out into the darkness.

Her first breath on deck was a startling relief. Fresh, salty air poured into her lungs and she smiled as her eyes fluttered against the wind. She was alone here. The supervising crew were all forward, their eyes toward Dublin. She had emerged on the aft deck, her boot heels clacking on the weathered wood taking her to the railing. She leant against the metal bars and watched white sea foam churn out from the ferry, collapsing in on itself in an endless fold. She stood in silence; her breath passing steadily in foggy bursts, dissipating into the night.

The creak of a floorboard startled her and she froze. She hated the sensation of suddenly realizing that she wasn't alone; it made her feel trapped, like she had been caught somewhere she shouldn't be. And, in truth, she knew she wasn't meant to be here. She turned slowly, ready to apologize to the waiting steward and return to her cabin.

'Sybil?'

She raised her eyes to see an equally startled Tom. He was frozen to the spot, staring, a lit match halted halfway to the cigarette which dangled, waiting, between his lips.

'Tom!'

He blew out the match and stuffed the cigarette into his pocket. 'What the fe- I mean, what are you doing up here?'

She smiled. 'I could ask you the same question.'

He smiled back, stepping towards her. 'Well, honestly, I came up for a smoke.' He held her hand and glanced up at her apologetically. 'Sorry. I know you hate it.'

She pulled his hand to her lips and gently kissed the knuckles, smiling as his eyes fluttered shut. 'Only because I think it's unhealthy.' Her free hand ran along his collar-bone, tracing the thick stitching of his black woolen overcoat. 'I worry about you, you know.' He heaved an exasperated sigh and she smiled and swatted his shoulder. 'Shush.'

'Ach. God knows you're probably right. You usually are.' He opened his eyes, staring at their clasped hands swinging in the air between them. As his gaze travelled along her forearms and to her body his eyes grew wide in alarm. 'Good God, darling, what are you wearing?'

Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion. 'A blanket? I'm fine; I just came up for a quick breath of fresh air. I did not expect to see anyone.'

'Don't you ever stop to put a coat on? You must be bloody freezing!'

She stepped close to him and looked up into his eyes through her eyelashes. 'Well, then. Warm me.'

He groaned and pulled her to him, enfolding her in his arms. 'Jesus. You're killing me.'

'What are you talking about?'

'For weeks now we've been apart, or together but surrounded by your family. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. I can only think of you. Wanting to hold you. Kiss you.' His grip on her waist tightened. 'Touch you'. His voice had lowered to a growl and she shivered in his arms. 'And then when I finally find you alone you are dressed like this. Looking like this.' He smoothed the hair away from her forehead and kissed it reverently. She smiled. 'You're so beautiful,' he whispered.

'Three days, Tom,' she whispered back. 'Three days and we will be married. You will be my husband and I will be your wife. And no one will separate us again.' She twined her arms through the opening of his coat and around his back, her long fingers rubbing his lower back. 'I will never let go of you again'.

He groaned. 'Promise?'

'Promise.'

She shivered again and he stepped back, unbuttoning his coat.

'No, no, Tom – keep your coat.'

'I certainly shall keep my coat – my jumper, however…' He shrugged off his coat and then pulled off the pea-green jumper beneath. She smiled as he helped it onto her small frame before pulling his coat back on.

She re-wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. 'And I thought I was done having help with dressing.'

'Always happy to help, ma'am.'

'Miss, if you please. At least for three more days.'

He grinned and pulled her to him once more. 'Ah. Three more days.'

'Comparatively a very short time.'

'It seems a lifetime.'

She stretched up to look at him. 'It does, but on the other hand… only three short days of being apart before we are together.' She blushed and he quirked his eyebrow to encourage her. 'Three days,' she whispered, her voice barely a breath. 'Three days until I can kiss' – she pressed her lips against his cheek – 'every' – his brow – 'last' – his jaw – 'inch of you.' He growled and brought her lips to his, finally claiming her. Their tongues pressed into each other's open mouths, his hands gripping her waist so tightly he was sure he must be hurting her but she just moaned against him, pressing herself against his body. They broke, panting for air, before crashing back together. Her heart was pounding as his hands travelled dangerously low down her back. Her teeth nipped playfully at his bottom lip and he retaliated, ravaging her neck with his tongue. She was panting, unable to catch her breath. 'God – Tom,' she gasped and thrust against him.

This seemed to awaken him. He moaned, pressing his forehead to hers. He gently kissed her mouth, groaning as he pulled back. 'Jesus, I want you Sybil. It's killin' me.'

She kissed him back gently and ran her hands through his hair. 'I want you too.'

The sound of a steward's footsteps ran out on the starboard side and the lovers scampered, hand in hand, below decks. They walked silently to her cabin. When they reached the door she turned and drew him to her once more. 'I love you, Tom,' she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. 'I love you, Sybil. So much.'

She smiled and stepped back, a teasing glint in her eye. 'The next time we will be alone will most likely be on our wedding night.'

He grasped her waist tightly again. 'I won't be able to think of anything else.' He leant towards her, his lips hovering an inch from hers. She closed her eyes her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. 'Goodnight, love,' he whispered and dashed down the hall towards his own cabin, leaving her hovering in shock and dismay.

'Tease!' she stage-whispered into the dark, smiling as she heard his retreating laugh. She crept back into her room to see Edith still calmly sleeping unawares of her mischievous charge. Sybil unwrapped the blanket and folded herself back under the sheets, Tom's green jumper warm and comforting against her skin. She curled on her side, pulling the long sleeves over her hands and bringing the material to her face. Surrounded by the smell of soap, wool and salt she fell into an easy sleep, into dreams where Tom's hands roamed, free of interfering sisters and stewards.

**A little retaliation there from Tom to a teasing Sybil! Next chapter will be the wedding night (oooooh). Hope you liked this little bit of fluff, please review if you did, it inspires me to get off my backside and write. **

**Lots of love, S. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hiya – I'm back, finally. So I had originally planned to do a little of the wedding but I didn't want to get bogged down into too much research, and besides there are already a lot of fine fanfictions that have detailed Tom and Sybil's settlement into Ireland much better than I could manage. And besides, it was long overdue to get to this point! This chapter basically begins straight after the reception when the newly-weds are delivered home. Hope you like it! **

As the heavy wooden door shuddered closed the sound of cheers and drunken singing was sealed off into silence. They were alone. Tom continued carrying Sybil to the foot of the stairs before releasing her with a fleeting kiss to her forehead.

'Welcome to…well, welcome home I guess,' he stammered.

She held his gaze and smiled.

'Home. I like the sound of that.'

She glanced down at their hands, which were linked and swaying slightly in the space between them.

'Well?' she ventured.

He, too, glanced downwards. 'Well?'

'What now?'

'Now we…' he swallowed loudly, then coughed. 'Oh feck, Sybil. I'm sorry. I've waited so long for this and now' – he laughed, gripping her hand – 'now I'm an idiot. I don't know what to do.' He chuckled again and caught her eye. 'I feel like a bloody schoolboy.'

She smiled and raised their hands to press a lingering kiss to his rough knuckles.

'I'm nervous, too. But there's something you should know,' she lowered her voice to a whisper and cupped his face with her open palm. He let his head relax into her embrace, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against his emerging stubble. His eyes closed and he whispered back.

'What?'

'That I love you.' She kissed his forehead. 'My husband'.

He sighed and pulled her to him. 'I still can't believe it.'

'Well you have a whole lifetime to get used to the idea.'

She began to ascend the stairs and motioned for him to follow. As they rose he began to undo his jacket, his nerve-riddled fingers making clumsy work of the buttons. Sybil opened the door to their bedroom and quietly gasped.

'Oh, it's lovely.'

Edith and Tom's younger sister Grace had volunteered to bring Sybil's belongings to their new flat so that the newlyweds would be settled for their first night. The simple furnishings – an iron-wrought bed, a chest of drawers, a desk, chair, and dressing table – were hand-me-down gifts from the Branson's. The fine white linen, a wedding present from Mary, was now strewn with daisies, while a healthy bundle of dried lavender stood proudly on their desk as a reminder of Downton. Tom shut the door, tossed his jacket onto the chair and began to fiddle with his tie, watching his new wife cross the floor and smell the flowers. She turned to see him struggling with the tie.

'Here let me help you,' she giggled. He resigned his hands and watched her intently as she began to pull and unthread the material. 'There's no need to rush.' She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. 'We have all night.'

He coughed again and, as if by instinct, raised his hands to grip her waist. He lowered his forehead to hers and, with tightly closed eyes, focused on her breath, the steady inhale as she finally unravelled his tie and pulled it from his neck. Her fingers ran along the edge of his collar to his chest where she began to slowly undo his shirt buttons, placing short, soft kisses on each new inch of skin she revealed. She undressed him slowly, reverently. She allowed his hands to grip her waist but when they began to trace north or south she held them still, whispering 'steady'. His body shook against her busy fingers, small groans escaping his throat when her kisses lingered. After unlacing his boots and allowing him to step out of his trousers and pants, as naked as the day he was born, she stood and kissed him sweetly on the mouth.

She pulled slightly away from him and brought his hands to the laces at her back. He nodded and began to unthread them. She watched him undress her slowly, the room silent but for the sizzle of flickering candles and their heavy breathing. She stepped out of her slip, naked, as he kissed his way down her neck, over her breasts, her soft stomach, her hip. She trembled, her fingers threading into his hair. As his lips trailed toward her centre her knees shook weakly.

'Bed,' she panted.

He nodded, standing, and led her to the bed his lips on hers. She fell back onto the crisp white linen and pulled herself up to lay her head on the pillows. He stood at the end, his eyes roaming over her body appreciatively, before slowly lowering himself onto her. He kissed her mouth fully, her tongue pressing sweetly against his. One hand cradled her head while the other traced slowly down her skin before finally pressing into her. When his finger slipped against her wetness he groaned against her lips. 'Jesus, Sybil.'

Her hands were wrapped around his neck, holding his mouth to hers as she moaned and writhed against him. Her fingers threaded again into his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp. Long strands had fallen over his face, shading his blue eyes. She pushed them away and held his gaze. 'Tom, I'm ready.'

He nodded and gulped. She gently lifted and parted her legs, allowing him to guide himself into her warmth. He kissed her and whispered 'I love you,' before finally, _finally_ pressing himself home.

He choked out her name and stilled, buried inside her, using every ounce of willpower to not thrust as he waited for her to adjust. Her eyes were clenched shut and he gently brushed her hair out of her face.

'Sybil?' he whispered. 'Are you hurt?'

'No, no.' She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. 'Please. More.'

He gently rolled his hips back and forward, watching her face for signs of discomfort before lowering his forehead to hers his face scrunched in concentration and pleasure.

'Oh, Jesus.'

The initial sting had eased and Sybil now began to feel a familiar burn grow within her. She lifted her legs higher and wrapped her calves over Tom's back, one hand on his shoulder, the other cradling his face. Every time she moaned his eyes widened and he ground quicker in response, her name on every panted exhale. She began to roll her hips against his. 'Tom, oh…'

He lowered his hand to her centre and grinned as she gasped. 'Yes, Sybil – please!'

It was too much. She fell apart around him, her hands clutching his shoulders as she fell into white light. He watched her face in wonder, her long, pale throat thrown back, brown-black curls tumbling over their wedding bed. As she writhed back against him his own peak followed and he buried his face into her neck, groaning her name, his body stiff and shuddering as he rode out the high.

He rolled over, pulling her with him, so she lay on top of him, their legs tangled. She kissed his chest, trailing up to his throat and jaw. She smiled when she saw his face, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile playing on his lips.

'Are you happy, Tom?'

His smiled widened and he peered down at her through sated eyes. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to him so he could place a kiss on the end of her nose. 'Incomprehensibly happy. And you? Are you happy, my little wife?'

She giggled. 'Yes, thank you. Although I do have one question.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Yes?'

She smirked up at him, swinging her leg up so that she was straddling his quickly regrouping centre. She licked her lips and ran her two hands over his broad chest.

'Well, husband. What next?'

**So there we go! I hope you enjoyed it. I think there may be one or two more chapters before I move on to something else. As usual I would love to hear what you think of the chapter. Thanks for reading! You're all awesome. Lots of love, S. **


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